


Learn to Play the Game

by nyagosstar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5879965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyagosstar/pseuds/nyagosstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull has some things he needs to explain. Krem likes the shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to Play the Game

**Author's Note:**

> For the father/son relationship between Krem and Bull. I decided to go a more literal route.

“Right. So, here’s what you’re going to do.” Bull leans over Krem’s coach, some shitty little guy from Orlais whose name Bull can’t remember. He’s happy, now, that bit of information isn’t taking up space in his brain. He hulks over the guy, pressing in, and using every aspect of his form.

Cause that’s the thing about the Qun. Not only is it about not wasting resources, it’s about using everything to the best advantage. He’s got height and muscle and horns on the guy and he’s happy to make it work for him. “First, you’re going to apologize to my kid. Then you’re going to apologize to all the other kids on the team. And then you’re going to think real hard about ever using that tone or that kind of language around six-year-olds, ever again. They’re here to learn to play a _game_. Got it?”

The guy huffs and Bull has to give him credit. He doesn’t look like he wants to back down. Seems the type, to be honest. “I don’t think you understand how team sports work.”

Bull hums, thoughtful, meditative, like he gives a shit what this guy thinks. “What I understand is how much pain you’re going to be in if you don’t say you’re sorry and leave the field.”

The color drains from the guy’s face and he takes a step back. “You can’t threaten me.” But he doesn’t sound real confident.

“Make sure it’s sincere. My kid’s real good at picking up bullshit.” He crosses his arms over his chest and jerks his chin toward the cluster of kids in their bright white uniforms and knee socks. The guy stumbles past Bull and over to Krem’s team. He can’t hear what the guy says, but the kids seem to take it in stride and his tone sounds apologetic enough.

“I don’t think I like soccer.” Krem slings his pint-sized gym bag over his right shoulder, an echo of the way Bull carries his own.

“Nah, it’s not so bad. Your coach was just an asshole. We’ll find a better one. If you don’t like it then we can try something else.” It’s weird, still, teaching a kid about doing things for fun, finding things that are for pleasure and not purpose. But it’s good. It’s good for both of them.

“I like the shoes.” They clack on the pavement of the parking lot and Krem over-exaggerates each step to hear them ring out.

Bull laughs and drops a hand on the top of Krem’s head, a light steering touch. “You can keep the shoes, Sport.”


End file.
